


sugar, we’re going down swinging

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Week 2019 [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fake Relationship between Mustang & OFC, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied homelessness, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Mental Coercion, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Not Actually Unrequited Love, RoyEd Week 2019, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-08-20 19:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: He swallows hard and forces his jaw to unclench. He doesn’t have the right to act like a jilted lover, Mustang never promised him anything. He has no right to expect… he isn’t even sure what he’d been expecting. That maybe there was something between them? That Mustang would one day acknowledge it? That maybe one day they could be together?He’d been a fool.“Sorry,” he manages to choke, the word getting stuck in his throat on the way out. “I’m sorry.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for RoyEd Week 2019 Day 4, inspired by the prompt “fake relationship”.
> 
> Just a general warning: this is not a happy fic. The tags refer to the mind control of a main character, and threats of mind control against others. Characters also say deliberately hurtful things to each other, both under the influence of mind control and without. Fwiw, there will be a happy ending. Be kind to yourself. 
> 
> My eternal and undying gratitude to [Koshiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koshiko) for betaing this even when it was a jumble of half-written excerpts on a shared gdoc - seriously, I owe you big time. All remaining errors are my own.

Ed is only gone for a month. That’s the length of time it takes for his entire world to be upturned. 

At first when Havoc picks him up from the station, he doesn’t understand the look of pity directed at him through the rear view mirror. Havoc has never pitied him and Ed has never pitied Havoc either. It’s why they get along so well. 

The drive is a short one so Ed doesn’t know why Havoc even bothered with a pickup, but the thought of dragging his suitcase through the humid damp of Central at one in the morning isn’t an appealing one, so he’s grateful regardless.

They talk casually about Ed’s trip and soon reach their destination. Havoc helps him unload his bag and clasps Ed’s shoulder, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry about this, Ed. You deserve better. If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you.” 

“Havoc, you’ve been dropping cryptic hints since you picked me up, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Havoc just shrugs and squeezes his shoulder again. “It’s not my place to say, Boss. I’ll leave Mustang to explain it to you.” Havoc has never once referred to their commanding officer by his last name, and certainly never with such disdain. More than anything else, that’s what freaks Ed out. After everything they’ve been through, he never thought this team could break down the way other teams did. The thought is horrifying because these people are the closest thing he has to a family, other than Al. 

Mustang will probably shed some light on the issue. He’ll never admit it, but as much as he loves the rest of the team, Mustang is the one he missed the most while he was away. 

Ed waits for Havoc to drive off before unlocking the door. The lights are on, but that’s not surprising because Mustang knows he’s due back tonight, and he wouldn’t have bothered going to sleep just for Ed to wake him up later. 

It was strange; the thought of coming _home_ to Mustang’s hot chocolate and their late night discussions in the library had been the only thing that kept Ed going through four exhausting weeks in Aerugo. He’s been a nomad all his life, but somehow, Mustang’s house has become his home, and he’s beginning to understand why people would fight and die for a place to call their own. It never made sense to him before, but there’s just something about waking up in the same bed every day that makes him feel… settled. Happy, even. 

And it has nothing—_ almost _ nothing—to do with his feelings for Mustang. 

Some part of him thinks that maybe this is a delayed onset of hormones. He’d been too busy for this nonsense when he was younger so it’s hitting him now, all at once. But that’s not entirely accurate either; even before the promised day, he’d liked Mustang, more than was seemly, more than he’d ever admitted to anyone. 

But since then, Mustang has been treating him differently too. Not just differently from the way he treated a younger Ed, but also differently from the way he treats everyone else. He’d had no reason to invite Ed to live with him; no commanding officer’s duty extended that far. Mustang even refused to accept rent. 

Ed thinks he can be forgiven for thinking that maybe Mustang feels… something for him too. He watches Ed, sometimes, when he thinks Ed isn’t paying attention. And it’s not… horrible. Ed likes the way Mustang looks at him, like he’s special or something. And he likely knows that Ed looks at him too, though he’s done nothing about it, said nothing about it. 

He takes care of Ed and lets Ed take care of him, even when it makes him vulnerable. That has to mean _ something._ Even Al thinks Mustang likes him (Ed takes this with a pinch of salt because Al is in love with the idea of love, though he can’t help but want it too).

Ed has even become accustomed to the way Mustang sometimes touches him, for no reason at all, each instance of contact sending electricity crackling down his spine. He knows this isn’t something he should be dwelling on, because at the end of the day Mustang is still his superior officer and that does mean something, but ever since the promised day, he can’t help but _hope_. 

In consideration of Mustang’s neat freak sensibilities, he toes off his boots and drops them near the front door. “Oi, Mustang! I’m home!” 

Normally Mustang would come out to greet him, but it _ is _ pretty late. Maybe the old man dozed off near the fire, and Ed will get to see him drooling on his own shirt or something. That’s always a treat. 

The door of the library is ajar, and through the crack he can hear a distinctly female voice. A sense of foreboding instantly fills his stomach. 

“He calls it home? How _ sweet_,” the woman says. Mustang’s response is too low for him to hear, but she laughs, and a chill runs down Ed’s spine. 

Well, he’s never been the type to creep around before and he’s hardly going to start now. He pushes the door open and steps into the room only to find Mustang sitting on the couch, pressed up against a beautiful dark-haired woman with blue eyes. Her face is bare of any obvious makeup, but she’s probably one of the prettiest ladies he’s ever seen, and he’s seen a fair few on his travels. 

“Ah, Edward,” Mustang says, and there’s something off about the way he says Ed’s name. It’s like there’s a distance between them, which hadn’t been there previously. Even when Mustang had shouted at him, it had always been _ personal_. “You’re back,” he says, like Ed is a stranger. 

“Yo,” Ed replies, and resists the urge to smack his forehead in exasperation. “I’m Ed,” he says, offering a hand to the woman when Mustang doesn’t introduce them. The woman stares at his hand like it’s something filthy invading her space. Ed lets his hand drop when it becomes clear that she’s not going to take it. It’s… he’s washed his hands, they don’t even look dirty. He’s not sure what the problem is… 

“Edward,” Mustang starts, when it’s clear that the woman isn’t going to introduce herself. “This is Catrina, my fiancé,” he finishes, turning to look at her adoringly. Ed’s heart stutters to a stop. 

Ed’s tongue trips on itself as he tries to think of something to say, _ anything _ to keep himself from looking like an utter buffoon. “Congratulations on your engagement?” he ventures, which is what Al would have said if he was here. With less surprise, of course, but Ed’s not perfect. His acting skills can only take him so far when there’s a voice screaming in the back of his head, that this is _ wrong _ , that it doesn’t make any _ sense_; how can this be _ happening? _

“Thank you, Edward,” Mustang says, but Catrina doesn’t respond. Her nose is wrinkled like she smelled something bad, and she’s looking at Ed like he’s little more than the dirt beneath her shoe. “Perhaps you’d like to retire for the evening? You can give me your report tomorrow,” Mustang suggests, his voice calm and totally nonchalant, like this is normal, like he doesn’t even notice the stilted silence in the room, so heavy that Ed feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Yeah,” he replies, when his mind draws a blank on anything else to say. “Sure, Mustang. Good night.” Ed nods at Catrina but doesn’t address her directly; it’s been a long time since anyone made him feel so small, and it hurts that Mustang hadn’t said anything to stop her. He’d thought… well. Clearly Ed had overestimated his own importance. 

He’s barely closed the door behind him when he hears Catrina say, “You allow the boy to call you by your name? I suppose some people just don’t know how to control their subordinates.” He leaves before he can listen to any more. 

-

The morning brings even more weirdness. When he comes downstairs, he finds Catrina sitting at the kitchen table while Mustang cooks for her. As far as Ed knows, Mustang hates cooking with a passion, because he’s never cooked anything for any of them. But still, the omlette he slides onto a plate for Catrina looks pretty good, and Ed is just about to ask if he doesn’t mind turning out another one for Ed when she catches sight of him. 

“Ah, Edward. Good morning. I took the liberty of cleaning out my beloved Roy’s kitchen. Some of your dishware was ancient, so I threw it out. I hope you don’t mind.” 

There’s nothing sinister about her voice, but Ed freezes. He’s an orphan. There were only two glass bowls which he and Al had rescued from their old house before they’d burned it to the ground; bowls which they’d painted with their mother. Al had one and Ed had the other, and both had been kept at Granny Pinako’s place until after the Promised Day. Ed had finally brought it to Central because he’d thought this was going to be his new home. And now… 

And now it’s gone.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. Ed squeezes his hands into fists when he realises they’re shaking, and bites his tongue against the howl building in the back of his throat. He’s not one to really care for material possessions, but that bowl… It had been the only thing he had left, apart from memories. It was the only thing he could touch that had her fingerprints embedded in the clumsy clay, and he’d thought it was safe, here, with Mustang. 

He doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth, because if he does… If he does, he thinks he’s going to scream. Mustang is saying something but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. 

When he finally opens his eyes and looks up, Catrina is gone and Mustang is staring at him with a twisted look of sympathy on his face. Ed wants to rant and rail but… well. What would be the point? 

“I’m sorry, Ed. She didn’t know any better.” Ed’s heart aches at the thought that Mustang is still defending her. Maybe he’s really in love with her. Ed can feel his face getting hot, and he swipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

Mustang comes closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, and it takes _ everything _ in Ed to not shrug it off, to not duck away from the touch, even though his skin is tingling and something in him also wants to lean into whatever comfort the man is offering. This isn’t fair. This isn’t _ fair_. Mustang leans in closer, and for a brief, _ idiotic _second, Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him. But Mustang only brings his mouth to Ed’s ear and whispers, “Your mother’s bowl is with Riza. She’s kept it safe at her apartment, for you.” 

He’s gone before Ed can even process the words, striding out of the room to chase after Catrina apparently. Ed is left standing there, stunned. 

There’s nothing to do, except get dressed and leave. On his way out, he sees a wrapped muffin on the table near the front door where he keeps his keys. It’s from the same bakery that Mustang used to get breakfast from, before Ed went to Aerugo.

Something splinters in his chest at the thought that maybe Mustang had picked this up for him, but… He doesn’t want it. He can’t explain why, but he doesn’t touch it. He’s not hungry, anyway. 

-

He reaches the office at 8am, as usual. Everyone turns to look at him (except Hawkeye, who’s too professional to rubberneck), and their eyes are filled with a strange sort of commiseration that makes Ed feel itchy. Havoc claps his shoulder when he sits down but doesn’t say anything, and Ed doesn’t say anything back, even though the silence could fill volumes. 

“So,” Fuery ventures after a stretch. “How was Aerugo?” 

Ed grins at him, grateful that he broke the heavy silence. “It was good, actually. Hot and tiring, but Prince Rico’s a decent sort. He helped me quite a bit.” 

Fuery places a cup of coffee on the desk in front of him and Ed beams at him in gratitude. “But it’s really good to be back. Being surrounded by strangers is exhausting. I’ve missed seeing friendly faces.” Breda smiles down at his desk, and Ed feels a knot in his shoulders easing because at least the _ team _ is glad to see him, even if things are weird with Mustang. Speaking of which… “So how have things been in Central?” he asks, taking a sip from the mug. 

The silence turns a little strained as no one says anything, pointedly. “Okaaaay,” Ed drawls. He’s going to get a straight answer out of them even if it kills him. “So is the awkward silence about Mustang’s fiance? Because I met her last night, if that’s what you’re trying to _ not- _talk about…” 

Havoc heaves a sigh of relief, which answers Ed’s question. Hawkeye touches his shoulder gently, which is unusual because Hawkeye never touches anyone in any way unless she absolutely has to, and Ed looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Ed,” she says, lowly. 

Ed averts his gaze. The reminder that _ everyone _ knows about his feelings for Mustang is _ not _welcome. He shrugs. “What for,” he asks, tonelessly. Hawkeye just squeezes his shoulder and doesn’t answer. He and Mustang had never talked about it, though he supposes he could be forgiven for having assumed; why else would the man have let him move into the same house? Why else would he and Mustang have spent entire days together, talking about politics and alchemy and their respective families, and never about work? Why else would Mustang have looked at him with his eyes smouldering like hot coals? 

Ed thinks he can be forgiven for having ascribed greater meaning to their interactions, and to Mustang’s actions. He’s not sure what Mustang’s excuse is. He should have known that Ed was slowly falling in love with him. Everyone can see it; even his brother had been able to tell, over the telephone, from thousands of miles away. Mustang was a master of understanding human nature, there was no way he could have missed what he was doing to Ed. 

Unless he _ had _ known, and he’d just not cared. Maybe he’d assumed Ed would grow out of it. Maybe he’d thought that Ed’s feelings weren’t that serious. Or maybe it just hadn’t mattered to Mustang. Why else would he have led Ed on for so long, only to get engaged to a total stranger? 

Ed hadn’t even expected Mustang to reciprocate, because it made sense that he wouldn’t. Why would a colonel, in an army, ever care about his lovestruck subordinate? That wasn’t the difficulty, in all this. What was really hard was that Mustang hadn’t even told him about it, and Ed had told Mustang _ everything. _He thought there weren’t many secrets left between them; and certainly not of this magnitude. 

Ed should have known better than to think so highly of himself. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. He was wrong. Ed’s been wrong before, and it hasn’t killed him yet. This won’t either. 

-

Later that night, Catrina’s words keep echoing through his head and Ed can’t sleep. He keeps tossing and turning, mindful of the fact that Mustang can probably hear him from his room. They’ve established that the walls are pretty thin, but it’s never really bothered them before. And Ed almost sort of liked the fact that they could hear each other moving around. It made him feel a lot less lonely. 

Now he’s dreading the thought that he might wake up to the sound of Mustang’s bed creaking, and he’d know that somewhere, just one wall away, he was—that Mustang was—that Catrina and him were _ together _. There’s a small growling creature that’s taken up residence in his chest. He knows it’s jealousy because in his mind’s eye it looks a lot like Envy’s true form, green and ugly and misshapen and soft. 

Ed remembers what Mustang had done to Envy. 

He’s a little afraid that if he sleeps he’s going to dream of Mustang doing that to him; of lighting him on fire again, and again, and again until all that’s left of him is the monster living inside his chest, wrapped around his heart. 

He hears the bed in Mustang’s room creak loudly, and he freezes, even though he’d been still in the first place. He hears indistinct murmuring but he doesn’t have to hear the exact words to imagine what’s going on, mere inches away from him. 

He can imagine Catrina curled into Mustang’s arms, their knees interlocked and their faces pressed close together. Maybe Catrina will be lying on Mustang’s arm, and her hand will be on his chest. Maybe they won’t be wearing very much clothing, because who likes wearing clothes to bed anyway, right? Maybe Mustang will be touching Catrina’s dark hair and marvelling at how soft she is, unlike Ed, who’s made entirely of hard muscles and unforgiving steel. Honestly, who could blame him for choosing Catrina? 

Mustang’s bed creaks again and Ed’s heart is pounding so hard that he feels on the verge of throwing up. He can’t live like this. He knows he’s going to have to leave. He just doesn’t know what Mustang will say about it, when he’s the one who invited Ed to stay with him in the first place. 

He doesn’t sleep. When the sun finally rises and it becomes an acceptable time to get breakfast, Ed drags himself out of bed. He dresses and gets ready to leave as quietly as possible; he’s going to avoid Catrina if he can. He’s worried that she’ll be able to read all his thoughts from his face, and he doesn’t want that. 

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side. Both Mustang and Catrina are sitting at the table when he attempts to walk past the kitchen. He tries to pretend that he doesn’t seen them, but when Catrina calls his name, he has no choice but to stop. If she’s going to marry Mustang, she’ll be a permanent fixture in their lives; the last thing he wants to do is piss her off irreparably. 

“Hey,” he says, walking back into the kitchen, as if he’d been intending to from the beginning. “Morning.” 

“Good morning, Ed,” Mustang says. Catrina doesn’t say anything at first, and just looks at him. 

“It’s come to my attention that you have been living here for some time now.” She pauses for a long second and just looks at him. Her gaze feels so heavy that Ed shrugs, almost as if he’s trying to dislodge a weight from his shoulders. 

“Yeah, like a year?” 

“Thirteen months, to be precise.”

“Yeah?” Ed asks, because he still isn’t sure what she wants from him. 

Her expression softens, but Ed isn’t convinced by it. She’s putting on a show, though he’s not sure whom she’s trying to fool. “Edward, dear,” she says, and Ed suppresses a shudder. “Surely you realise that you’ve overstayed your welcome.” 

Ed freezes. And he’d been expecting something painful, but this is more than just that. This is… “Uh,” he starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. A sideways glance at Mustang shows that he’s not even looking up; his gaze is fixed at his lap, and his jaw is clenched. 

Catrina presses on. “My darling Roy has just been too soft-hearted to say anything, but _dear_, surely you know. A husband and a wife need their own home to live in. Without any guests to interrupt their time, if you understand what I’m saying. And when we have a child, we’ll need space for a nursery, you see?” 

He can still remember the day when Mustang first invited Ed to live with him. He’d refused to take no for an answer when Ed moved out of the recruits dorms. He’d sworn that Ed could make a permanent home with him, that he’d never want that spare room back, and it could be Ed’s permanent home. Ed had been hesitant at first because he hadn’t even known what a ‘permanent home’ entailed, but Mustang had insisted. And even after he moved in, he’d corrected Ed for an entire month until he also started calling it _ his _home, instead of just Mustang’s. 

Mustang doesn’t say anything now; he just stares at his lap. Ed wants to think it’s because he doesn’t agree with Catrina, but it could just as equally be that Mustang really does want him to leave; his expression doesn’t give anything away. 

“Right,” Ed says. “Okay.” He knows his face is probably giving him away, but he doesn’t know how to stop it; he’s never been able to guard his expressions that well. 

Catrina elbows Mustang, none too gently, and gestures at Ed with a tilt of her head; it’s a full conversation between them without words, and Ed wonders (not for the first time) how long they’ve been together without his knowledge. Mustang doesn’t respond to her, so she sighs and continues, her brow furrowed in frustration. “We don’t have much time left before the wedding, so it would be good if you could find somewhere else to be in a couple of days--”

Mustang finally looks up at Ed, and his own eyes look steely and determined. “You can take your time to move out, Ed. There’s no rush at _ all,_” he says, turning to glare at Catrina, who holds up her hands in surrender and rolls her eyes. 

Ed had been hoping that Mustang would stand up for him. He’d been hoping that Mustang would tell Catrina to fuck off, that this was Ed’s home too. But maybe Ed was wrong to have expected all these things for free. 

He swallows hard and forces his jaw to unclench. He doesn’t have the right to act like a jilted lover, Mustang never promised him anything. He has no right to expect… he isn’t even sure what he’d been expecting. That maybe there was something between them? That Mustang would one day acknowledge it? That maybe one day they could be together?

He’d been a fool.

“Sorry,” he manages to choke, the word getting stuck in his throat on the way out. “I’m sorry.” Mustang looks pained again but he doesn’t say anything further. “I’ll get my stuff out as soon as I can.” 

“There’s no rush, Edward,” Mustang says, and he sounds pained but for some reason Ed can’t quite make eye-contact. 

“_Dear,_” Catrina hisses at Mustang, “perhaps we should talk about this?” 

“No, it’s okay,” Ed interjects, taking a step backwards. “Just give me a day or so. I’ll figure something out.” He turns and walks away before he can make an even bigger fool of himself. Well. At least he’d been planning on moving out anyway, if only for different reasons. At least it can’t possibly get worse than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A preview of the next chapter(s) (aka "it gets worse before it gets better"): 
> 
> _Mustang takes a single step towards him with his hands outstretched but Ed slaps them away. “Don’t fucking **touch** me,” he snaps. Ed has never hated anyone as much as he hates Mustang now, and he hopes the bastard knows it._  

> 
> [the majority of this has been written out but as I was posting this chapter I realised that I'm going to redo the entire conclusion. bear with me pls <3]


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mustang takes a single step towards him with his hands outstretched but Ed slaps them away. “Don’t fucking _touch_ me,” he snaps. Ed has never hated anyone as much as he hates Mustang now, and he hopes the bastard knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but like I said, it's gotta get worse before it gets better. Brace.

In the end, Ed rents a locker at the train station. 

What doesn’t fit into his duffel bag is donated to charity; he’s lived like this before and he can do it again. Material things have never mattered that much to him anyway. He’s not willing to impose on Mustang and Catrina any longer than he has to. 

It’s enough that no one at work suspects that he’s showering at the train station or cleaning his uniform using alchemy. He just needs to last until the weekend, and then he can start hunting for a place to live. 

Riza starts looking at him a little strangely, but that’s because she’s smarter than almost everyone else on the team put together, and it’s not exactly subtle that he hasn’t said a single word to Mustang since Catrina effectively kicked him out and Mustang let it happen. 

It’s not that he’s ignoring the man or anything, it’s just that there isn’t much left to say. Mustang hadn’t owed him shit, but he’d at least hoped for some loyalty, in light of all their years of friendship. 

Then again, it’s possible he’s been misreading that too; maybe they’d only ever been colleagues, and Ed had just... jumped to conclusions.

Ed finds himself in the unenviable position of wanting to complain about Mustang to his favourite confidante, even though Mustang _ is _his favourite confidante. After Al, of course, but he’s not going to admit to Al that he’s sleeping on a bench at the train station. Al would murder Mustang and no one would ever find the body. 

Ed’s not happy, but he doesn’t want Mustang _ dead._

Besides, he’s slept in worse places, and it’s only temporary. And technically Mustang had allowed Ed to stay at his house for as long as he needed; he’d chosen to leave quickly, because he couldn’t deal with the idea of waking up to Mustang and Catrina playing house every morning.

He wakes up before the sun rises, works until the sun sets and everyone leaves, and then wanders around the city until the last train leaves the station for the night. His reputation finally turns out to be useful, because the station guard doesn’t disturb him a single time.

On the third evening after he moves out, Mustang calls Ed into his office. 

Ed doesn’t throw himself onto Mustang’s couch, because he’s just not comfortable doing it anymore. He knows Mustang notices, because the line of his mouth becomes thin and drawn. Ed pretends not to notice. “You called?” 

“Yes, Edward. Please take a seat.” It’s not an invitation, but an order. Ed doesn’t protest. It’s not like he has anywhere else to be, anyway. “I notice you haven’t been coming back home at night?” 

Ed shrugs. “I’ve moved my stuff out.” 

Mustang blinks at him, like he doesn’t understand what Ed is saying, even though Ed is fairly certain he’s speaking common. “But your books? All your clothes?” 

Ed shrugs again. “You bought most of the books, so they’re not mine. I gave away what I don’t need. None of the alchemical equipment is irreplaceable. All I need are my notebooks and pens. I’ve packed everything up so you can do whatever you like with it.” 

Mustang’s expression grows increasingly fixed with every word Ed says, so he stops talking. Mustang doesn’t need to know all this, anyway.

“You didn’t have to move out so quickly, Ed.” Mustang runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his face, looking absolutely wretched. 

Ed wonders why Mustang looks so grieved, it’s not like he’d protested when Catrina evicted him out in the first place. “I’m not going to stick around where I’m not wanted, Mustang. I’m not the best person in the world, but I deserve better than that.” Ed wants to tell Mustang that his efficiency didn’t mean that it had been easy, but Mustang doesn’t need to know that either. 

Mustang makes a pained little noise in his throat. “Listen, Ed, do you have any plans? Do you want to have a drink? In the office, I mean. You don’t have to come back home if you--” he cuts himself off, and Ed doesn’t say anything, letting Mustang make his point for him. 

He only gives in after a pointed second. “Yeah, sure. I need to debrief on Aerugo anyway.”

Mustang tries a smile. “That sound good. I’ve missed your company, Ed.” 

Ed waits for a sarcastic quip, and can’t quite hide his surprise when it doesn’t come. “Yeah. It was a long trip. I was actually thinking about taking some time to visit Al.” Ed doesn’t normally use his leave but he figures it’ll give him some time to get his head on straight. This infatuation has been left alive too long; it needs to be exorcised.

Still, sitting at Mustang’s desk is the most normal he’s felt since he left for Aerugo in the first place. Mustang keeps looking at him with this odd longing in his eyes, and this is the look that Ed had misinterpreted so horribly. Even knowing now that it doesn’t mean… anything, it still makes his stomach churn with attraction. 

Mustang pours him a finger of whiskey and they nurse their drinks in silence. A strange ache starts up in Ed’s chest at the thought that this quiet comfort isn’t something he can have anymore, though he’s been having nothing but strange aches and pains for days, so he’s used to it. 

“It’s good to have you back, Ed. It’s been really quiet without you.” 

Ed snorts and the words escape before he can reconsider them: “so what, you got bored and decided to get engaged?” It’s honestly the last thing Ed wants to talk about, his subconscious apparently disagrees. 

Mustang slouches further into his chair, looking like he wants to sink under the table to avoid answering like a petulant child; it’s not fair that his expression makes Ed’s heart skip a beat, even when he knows he has no right to look at Mustang in that way. 

“Nothing has to change, Ed. I’m still the same person you’ve always known, just. You know. Engaged.” Mustang rubs his eyes and he looks more tired than Ed remembers, and older than he is. He’s still breathtaking. 

“Don’t know you that well, apparently,” Ed says, only taking a little bit of satisfaction from Mustang’s flinch. “You’re getting married, Mustang. Everything is going to change.” Ed can’t entirely keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he figures he’s entitled to some snark, given the circumstances. Mustang looks bizarrely upset at the comment, and it makes Ed’s stomach roil because what does _ he _ have to be upset about? Ed’s the one who thought - well. It doesn’t matter what he’d thought. He’d been wrong. 

“Really Ed. You don’t understand.” His words send a sharp pang through Ed’s chest but Mustang keeps speaking and Ed doesn’t know how to make him stop. He knows he shouldn’t have started this conversation but… 

“There are legitimate reasons for what I am doing. I’m getting older and I don’t want to be alone anymore. Please trust that I know what I’m doing.” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced himself, which makes Ed even angrier than before. When had Mustang ever been alone? Ed had never - the entire team - when Ed had been a child, he would have given up his remaining limbs for a family like the one Mustang had. When had he ever been alone.

When _ Ed _had been a child, anger had translated to violence; nowadays, it translates to recklessness, and Ed has always had the bad habit of speaking before he thinks. 

“You’re right, I don’t understand. I’d rather die alone than marry someone I don’t love.” 

Mustang looks up at him and blinks. They’ve never talked about this; not when it skirts to close to the secret that sits on Ed’s heart like a boulder. It’s just not something they do, no matter how much Ed wants to tell him that no one else in the world, with the exception of his brother, has ever made him feel as safe as Mustang does. No matter how much Ed wants to thank Mustang for being the bedrock of his family, for giving him a home and a life to return to. It’s too dangerous, and Ed is a coward in some ways, too. 

“And anyway, I don’t know how you could ever fall in love with such a humongous _ bitch_,” Ed spits, because apparently he’s not done with his mortifying honesty. 

Mustang’s face twists like he’s tasted something sour. “You’re a bastard, Mustang.” Ed huffs a laugh, almost to himself. “Just enough of a bastard to be worth liking, actually, and a good man underneath. I don’t know what you see in her.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Mustang tries, forcing the words out from behind gritted teeth. “She’s accomplished and ambitious.” 

“You sound like you’re reciting her resume. Why did you even pick her? I’m not asking why you picked a wife, but why did you pick _ her _?” Ed knows he’s pushing, knows he’s intruding into matters that have nothing to do with him, but he can’t help himself. 

Mustang bangs his fist on the desk and it’s so violent that Ed _ flinches_. Mustang doesn’t back down. “It’s none of your business, Fullmetal.” Something inside Ed’s chest wrenches, like a fist has closed around it and squeezed. Mustang hasn’t called him by that name since… well. Since the Promised Day. “Catrina was right. This is why we cannot be friends. You always forget yourself. You overstep. I am your commanding officer. I have always given you too much leeway,” Mustang says, and Ed wants the ground to crack open and swallow him whole, he just knows his face is painted red with humiliation.

In his life, a lot of people have said a lot of hurtful things about him. Nothing has ever hurt as much as this. He can see himself, can hear himself, almost as if he’s watching from somewhere outside his own body. He can see his own fingers flexing like he wants to make a fist and punch something, his lips curling into something ugly. He wants to stop himself, but he’s too far gone for that. “I know my opinion means shit to you, but I thought - well. Clearly, I thought wrong.” 

He downs his whiskey in a single shot and puts the glass back down on the table as quietly as he can. “You’re right, Mustang. We can never be friends.” Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to Mustang, but it means something to Ed. It means everything to him, which is why he has to leave. He stands up and salutes perfectly, with his eyes nailed to the wall behind Mustang instead of making contact; something he’s never done in front of Mustang before. “Am I dismissed, sir?” he asks. 

“Fullmetal - _ Edward_,” he hears Mustang say, suddenly pleading, but he doesn’t pay attention. He drops the salute sharply and spins on his heel to leave, because Mustang can’t force him to stay. Not after what he said. 

Ed is half-way across the room when he feels Mustang’s hand wrap around his wrist and tug him back. Even now, nothing in him is capable of fighting the pull. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s facing Mustang and their lips are pressed together. Their bodies are inches apart, and the heat of Mustang’s body is radiating through his clothes and into Ed’s skin. 

For a moment he can’t help but close his eyes and melt into it, the heat, and the pressure, and the electrifying feeling of Mustang’s fingers around his wrist. It’s like some heavenly chord is striking throughout his entire body because he’s wanted this for so long...

But then he realises what’s happening, and his mind and his body revolt in unison. He opens his eyes again, yanks his hand out of Mustang’s grip, places both hands on Mustang’s shoulders and shoves, _ hard_. 

Mustang stumbles backwards from the force of Ed’s push, catching his balance on his desk before he falls, but it’s only Ed’s iron self control that keeps him from punching Mustang again. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but it still feels like his skin is crawling. 

What had been the thing he wanted most in the world is now bitter on his tongue, because this isn’t what he’d dreamt of; not like this. He doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, but he suspects he’s gone very pale, because of the way Mustang looks so concerned. He’s so angry that his vision is swimming, and his hands are shaking slightly. 

Mustang takes a single step towards him with his hands outstretched but Ed slaps them away. “Don’t fucking _ touch _me,” he snaps. Ed has never hated anyone as much as he hates Mustang now, and he hopes the bastard knows it.

“Ed,” he tries anyway, because he’s never known when to quit, “I’m sorry, I thought you—”

“You thought I’d what,” Ed snarls, “I’d help you cheat on your fucking fiancé? Because you what, changed your mind? Want me on the side? Fuck off, bastard. You _ disgust _ me,” Ed spits, still shaking with a mixture of shock and fury.

“No,” Mustang tries to interrupt, “it’s not like that, Ed, I—”

But Ed doesn’t want to hear it. There’s nothing Mustang could say that could make this better. It absolutely _ is _ like that, and Ed can’t be here anymore. He has to get out, so he turns away from Mustang again and runs for the door. 

“Ed, please, I’m sorry, I _ really _ care for you—” are the last words he hears before he slams the door shut. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t—he _ doesn’t_, even though the words slice through him like a hot blade through melted butter, leaving a gaping wound where his heart should be. 

Everything is _ ruined_, and Ed can’t fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from the next chapter:
> 
> There are a hundred million things that Ed could say, a hundred different pathways laid out in front of him in this moment. But Ed has always been very good at prioritising, and the most important thing he has to say is this: “I love you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye saves the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this was seriously playing on hard mode. i apologise in advance for any inconsistencies or errors - as usual written on my phone with even less sleep than usual, and it hasn't been beta read. i hope ya'll enjoy it anyway.

It doesn’t take long before the anger screaming through Ed’s body is replaced with grief and regret. He shouldn’t have pushed; the man is getting  _ married _ . Presumably he knows what he wants, even if Ed thinks he’s lost his mind. Mustang had always been patient with Ed pushing their boundaries but he should have known it wouldn’t last forever. Mustang was bound to snap, eventually. 

He tries to tell himself that this is a good development; at least now, knowing how much of an actual asshole Mustang is, maybe he can move on. He’s not sure how convinced he is. 

His feet lead him back to the train station independently of any thought process. He’s effectively living there and it’s a little sad, yes, but he wants to run away, to go somewhere no one knows him, and some part of him is glad for the proximity to his escape plan. He’s done nothing wrong but he’s so fucking humiliated all the same. Mustang must have known all along that Ed was in love with him; why else would he have kissed Ed? It doesn’t make any sense,  _ none of this  _ makes  _ any _ fucking sense. 

It’s embarrassing enough that Mustang had known, it’s  _ worse _ that Ed had kissed him back,  _ god _ . He knows he’s not thinking straight, but it doesn’t matter. He has to get out of Central. Mustang probably won’t tell anyone; he’d be too embarrassed that he’d been spurned by Ed, but Ed doesn’t think he can face anyone. Even if no one else knows,  _ he  _ knows; for that split second, that he’d kissed Mustang back. 

He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but anywhere is better than here. 

Unfortunately, trains out of Central don’t start running until the morning, and Ed doesn’t have anywhere else he can spend time until the sun comes up. He lies down on a wooden bench and thinks about how it’s funny; this is where this disaster had started, when Havoc had come to pick him up, and this is where it’s going to end. He doesn’t know exactly  _ what _ is ending, but something is. 

In hindsight, beneath the anger, some part of him still loves Mustang. His insides still quiver when he thinks of the man, and Mustang’s sharp intelligence has always been wildly appealing to him. And in the past few years, ever since they got to know each other, he’d begun to like the man’s personality too. Maybe Ed could have forgiven the comments made in anger. He’s reasonably sure that Mustang had regretted saying that they weren’t friends, even if he had meant it. 

This, though. Taunting Ed. Playing with him like his feelings were easily disposed of with a kiss and some sweet words. What had Mustang thought would happen? Did he think that Ed was the sort who could be placated with secret rendezvous and stolen touches? 

Well, fuck him, and fuck the high horse he rode in on. Ed doesn’t want any of it. 

He’s so engrossed in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching until they’re almost on top of him. He closes his eyes and hopes that it’s not Mustang, but he’s not optimistic. The footsteps stop near his head and he takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk to you, Mustang.” 

The answering silence stretches out, and for a split second Ed wonders if the person has left, but he hasn’t heard any footsteps leading away, so the bastard is probably still standing there, staring at him. Ed keeps his eyes shut. He can’t bear to look. 

“I think we need to talk,” Hawkeye says, and Ed sits up so quickly he almost falls off the bench. 

“Hawkeye!” She’s looking at him with the same strange sympathy he’s been seeing in her eyes all week. 

“Is this where you’ve been sleeping?” she asks, reliably getting straight to the point. 

He looks away and shrugs. He’s not ashamed of himself. Survival isn’t glamorous or beautiful, but he’s proud of himself. At least he’s strong enough to walk away from the people who hurt him, but it’s different, standing in front of Hawkeye. She always seems so composed and so in-control, he doesn’t think he could bear to see judgment in her eyes. 

“You should have come to me, Ed. I’m your friend, too.” Ed looks up then, because she sounds so sad that it doesn’t make sense. 

“I know,” he replies, “but everyone already knows how I feel about the bastard. How I  _ felt _ about him, anyway. Asking for help would be like rubbing salt in the wound, you know?” 

She sighs and nods. “Tomorrow, we’ll take leave and find you a new apartment. You should have your own place, no matter what happens.” 

Ed closes his eyes and swallows hard against the lump in his throat. He’d thought Mustang’s place could be his too, but he’d been so terribly wrong. “I was actually thinking about getting out of Central for a bit.” 

“Taking a holiday is a good idea,” she says, evenly. “But you should have somewhere to come home to, Edward. Somewhere that’s your own, that no one else can take from you.” 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had my own home,” Ed admits. 

“I know. It’d be my honour to help you find one. And if the Colonel has anything to say about it, I’ll deal with him. But before that, I think we need to talk. Something is wrong with him.” 

“I could have told you that,” Ed scoffs. 

Hawkeye clears her throat, a telltale sign that she’s trying not to laugh, but she only says, “more wrong than usual. Why don’t you stay with me tonight, Ed.” It’s not a suggestion. “We’ll pick up some food on the way home. Something hot will do you good. How do noodles sound?” 

Ed fucking loves noodles, and he loves Hawkeye too. 

-

Hawkeye’s place - or what he’s seen of it - hasn’t changed, though the circumstances are vastly different since the last time he was here. It’s still as neat as a pin, and the layout is familiar. Some part of Ed wonders how he’ll set up his own place, but he tries not to build castles in the sky. He might not get an apartment in the end. After all, Edward Elric rarely gets what he wants. His luck ran out on the Promised Day and it’s been downhill ever since. 

Hawkeye shows him to a spare bedroom and sends him off for a shower while she heats up the food. The shower makes him feel like a new human being, and the noodles work wonders on his mood. By the time they’re done with dinner, Ed almost feels optimistic about the situation. 

He volunteers to do the dishes and Hawkeye makes tea for them, and it feels really nice and comfortable. Ed even starts thinking he should have come to her place first before resorting to the apocalyptic option of sleeping on a bench at the train station. “I’ve been a bit dramatic, haven’t I?” he asks. 

Hawkeye smiles at him, but there’s nothing mean in it. “Edward, if I ever thought that you’d become  _ less _ dramatic, I’d start worrying that you’d been replaced by someone else. Which is, strangely enough, what I wanted to talk to you about. The Colonel started behaving strangely about two weeks after you left. He started leaving work early and one day Jean teased him about having a new girlfriend,” which was inappropriate but not unusual. Ed nods to show he’s listening. 

“For unrelated reasons, I happen to know that the Colonel isn’t in the market for a girlfriend. Or at least, he wasn’t. I was surprised then, when he told Jean that he did in fact have a new girlfriend. This was a surprise to all of us, especially since we were under the impression that there was something between the two of you.”

Ed snorts. “I thought the same thing. More fool me, right?” 

Hawkeye shakes her head and her gaze is unflinching. “It wasn’t - something was different about him, Ed. You have to understand, I’ve known him for most of our lives. I know him almost as well as I know myself. But he was different. I started thinking that maybe he was upset about something, maybe he wasn’t getting enough sleep, or maybe he was being drugged.” 

Ed knows he’s frowning, but apart from concern about Mustang, he’s also a little frustrated that none of the thoughts above had occurred to him at all. 

“So when they were out on one of their wedding appointments, I broke into his house.” 

At this, Ed is forced out of his contemplation. “What?” 

Hawkeye shrugs and takes a sip of tea. “It’s not exactly breaking-and-entering when you have a spare key, but the point is that I was there while they weren’t. He’d just introduced Ms Catrina to us the day before, and she’d insulted both Fuery and Jean in one breath, and insinuated that I was nothing but a token female taken on for census purposes.” Ed winces, because only the truly deluded could question Hawkeye’s competence. “And the Colonel didn’t say a word.” 

Ed hears the hurt in her voice, and it feels exactly the way he’d felt when Mustang had let Catrina kick him out. He reaches out and touches her shoulder awkwardly, because he doesn’t want to interrupt, but he does want to comfort her. She covers his hand briefly and squeezes it, before nodding and continuing. 

“Once upon a time, he promised me that we would be friends for life, and that if anyone disrespected me, it would be as if they’d disrespected him. I believed him then. So I broke into his house. Took a look around. I honestly wouldn’t have found it, if I hadn’t thought about your own adventures.” 

Ed blinks in confusion. “Tell me, Edward. How many times have you found secret arrays hidden in basements?”

“If I had to count, we’d be here all week.” 

Hawkeye nods, a triumphant look in her eye. “Exactly. I’ve read all of your mission reports, and there’s something about basements that calls to crazy alchemists. She hadn’t even bothered hiding it. There’s a huge array down there, and I would have run a toe through it to break the lines, but I didn’t know whether there would be any sort of consequence.” 

Ed heaves a sigh of relief. “Good thing you didn’t. If it’s big, the energy backlash will be bigger. Wait, it was active?” 

Hawkeye nods. “Glowing and making that high pitched whining sound that you hear sometimes.” 

Ed could write volumes on what he knows about the high-pitched sound of active arrays, about resonant frequencies and why alchemists preferred to work underground with cool damp dirt, but that’s not what he’s thinking about. Not now. 

“We have to break the array.” 

Hawkeye smiles at him. “I’ve just been waiting for your return. There are no other alchemists I could trust. It’s been a long month, Edward, and we’ve all missed you.” 

“Yeah, with Mustang acting like this, I don’t blame you,” Ed says, already thinking about what kind of array he might find. 

“Ed,” Hawkeye says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “we’d have missed you even if nothing was wrong with the Colonel. We missed you even before he started acting oddly. You should know by now that we like you for more than just your alchemy.” 

Ed can’t help but blush at the praise, unaccustomed to such frankly complimentary words from the stoic lieutenant. “Thanks, Hawkeye. But I guess it’s a good thing I’m an alchemist anyway, huh?” 

“It’s a very good thing,” Hawkeye agrees. “It’s also a very good thing that they’re going for a cake tasting tomorrow. We can drop by the Colonel’s place after we find an apartment for you.” 

Ed grins; it’s the first time he’s felt like smiling after he went to Aerugo. Hawkeye is a miracle. “Thanks, Hawkeye.” 

“You’re very welcome, Edward. Now, get some rest. I daresay you’ll sleep better on a mattress then you’d been sleeping on that bench.” 

Ed shrugs even as he gets up and deposits their mugs in the sink, to be dealt with the morning after. “I dunno. It was nostalgic. Remember, I used to fall asleep everywhere? Like sometimes you’d just find me sleeping underneath Fuery’s desk? Or in a corner of the train station while waiting for my connection?” 

She sighs. “That just makes the Colonel - and Catrina’s - actions less forgivable,” which Ed doesn’t understand but, “good night, Edward.” 

“Good night, Hawkeye. Thanks, again. For everything.” 

-

After everything, it’s almost comically easy. 

Hawkeye’s key still works. Ed had never had his own key, because he’d always just alchemised the locks open, and Mustang had never bothered with a spare. Being back there is stranger than he’d expected, considering he’d only lived there for a little-over one year. Hawkeye doesn’t linger, thankfully, and leads him straight to the basement. 

“I’d have drawn a picture, but I wasn’t sure how much time I had, or how the Colonel would react if he found me. Take your time though, I happen to know that their appointment is going to be… interrupted.” 

He eyes her warily, because that sounds both wonderful and terrifying. She’s taking far more pleasure in this than he’d expected. She shrugs, avoiding his wordless query. He supposes she has as much a right to be petty as anyone else, so he doesn’t push it. 

The array is new to him but new arrays stopped fazing him when he was eleven years old. The knowledge from the gate may have faded with time, but the confidence to deal with the unknown was hard-earned and not so easily destroyed. 

The array is, in fact, humming like a live wire. From the corner of his eye, the lines almost look like they’re glowing. The symbols though, are straightforward. He doesn’t even need a reference text. He claps his hands once and places them gently on the ground, and closes his eyes. 

The first rule of alchemy is equivalent exchange; energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed. To deactivate an array, one has to serve as a conduit for the energy that is already there. Ed will be that conduit. The nails hammered into his boots ground him, and all the power flows harmlessly into the ground, barely even ruffling his hair. It’s almost too easy, for the amount of trouble it’s caused. 

“Is it done?” Hawkeye asks, when Ed stands up and brushes his dusty hands against the back of his trousers. He nods. “What was it?” 

“As far as I can tell, it’s some sort of intense suggestion. It’s unusual and it’s very unstable, but she found a way to balance its effectiveness against its volatility. I think it would have been very easy for her to control Mustang, with this thing in his house. She’d just have to order him to do something and he’d have no choice but to do it. But I think he’s not totally gone - he’s probably aware of what’s going on. Resisting her, but unable to break free.” 

“So, mind control,” Hawkeye says, neatly summing up Ed’s hypothesis. He nods, a little miffed that he hadn’t thought of it first. “And now that it’s deactivated, he’ll be back to normal?” 

“As normal as Mustang ever was yeah. I mean, unless she’s doing something else to him, or he’s actually fallen in love with her.” 

Hawkeye looks at him carefully. “Edward, I’m saying this as your friend, and I’m only going to say this once so I hope you understand me. He’s already in love. He’s been in love for years now, far before he ever laid eyes on Catrina.” 

Ed wants to ask who the bastard is in love with, but the look on Hawkeye’s face speaks volumes. He  _ knows _ what she’s trying to say, and he won’t insult her by asking stupid questions. But whether he believes it is another thing. He swallows hard and nods. “So are you still up for helping me find a flat?” 

She nods, a proud smile on her face, and Ed feels like he’s finally done something right to deserve it. “Let me call Jean. I hadn’t shared my suspicions with everyone but I asked him to tail the Colonel today. I’ll rest easy once I’ve confirmed that the Colonel is no longer under her spell.” 

Ed scoffs. “She’s no enchantress. This was cold hard alchemy. She’s no prodigy, but she was competent enough to pull it off.” 

“Not good enough to defeat you, though.” 

Ed shrugs. “Few people are, and yet. It doesn’t mean shit, Hawkeye.” 

She pats his shoulder once, and then leads the way up the stairs. He adores her even more now, for not trying to force self-esteem down his throat. It’s a fact of life that powerful alchemy can rarely solve the world’s problems on its own. If Hawkeye hadn’t had the courage to investigate, or if she hadn’t had the compassion to hunt Ed down, the following day would have found him in Xing and he doubts he would ever have come back.

“I bet Mustang’s going to be so fucking embarassed,” he murmurs, almost to himself. 

“I know he doesn’t deserve it, but be kind to him. He’s not entirely blameless, I’m sure, but he’s a victim too. Imagine being in your body but not being able to control your actions or your words.” 

Ed doesn’t get the chance to reply before Hawkeye’s call goes through to Havoc, but he thinks about it. It’s the least he can do. 

-

Finding an apartment is not easy, but they manage it within a day, between Hawkeye’s efficiency and Ed’s decisiveness. He knows his budget and he knows what he likes, and the closer they get to the military HQ, the more available apartments there are. It doesn’t speak highly of the citizens’ trust in the army, but that’s Mustang’s problem, not Ed’s. 

Moving in is even easier, because he doesn’t exactly have much stuff. He carves arrays for light and temperature into all the rooms and activates them one at a time, just to make sure everything works, and basks a little when Hawkeye looks impressed. The first meal they share at his dining table is fucking delicious, and Ed can’t help but wonder why he hadn’t done this earlier. 

Knowing that this place is  _ his _ is doing wonders for his anxiety, quelling the little voice in the back of his head that won’t stop shouting about what-if’s and eventualities. 

They’re having coffee and ice cream when he hears a knock on the door. It’s unexpected because it’s only his first day here; no one knows he’s moved in. “You should open that,” Hawkeye says, when the knock comes again. 

She knows who it is, but she’s not saying. He gets up and opens the door, to find a bedraggled looking Mustang standing outside, staring at the doormat. When he looks up, he looks so miserable that Ed just opens the door wider to let him in. He’s not the softest person in the world, but he’s not cruel either. Not on purpose. Hawkeye doesn’t look surprised to see him, and Ed knows she’s the one who set this up. He’s not sure whether to be angry or grateful yet, but he is awed at how quickly she works. He suspects that if left to their own devices, Ed would have died before talking to Mustang about any of this. Now they don’t have a choice. 

Hawkeye stows her pint of ice cream in Ed’s refrigerator. “That had better be there when I come back next time,” she says, only a little threatening. 

“Thanks, Hawkeye.” 

She pats him on the shoulder again, on her way out the door. “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Riza yet?” 

Ed can’t stop the scarlet flush spreading across his face. “Good night, Riza.” 

“Good night, Edward. Roy,” she says, patting him on the shoulder too, gently. He flinches away slightly and doesn’t make eye contact. Hawk- Riza looks at Ed, and Ed nods; he couldn’t be cruel to Mustang. Not now, not when he’s like this. 

“C’mon,” Ed says, closing the door behind Hawkeye and locking it. “I don’t have clothes in your size but I’ve got some towels, and the fire is going.” 

“I’m sorry,” Mustang says, at the exact same time Ed asks -

“Are you alright?” Ed clicks his tongue and pours Mustang a cup of strong black tea with two teaspoons of sugar, just the way he likes it. “Don’t be sorry, Mustang. It’s alright.”

“It’s really not,” Mustang replies, and Ed has to concede the point. It really isn’t alright. 

“Sure. But it will be. It’s going to be okay, Mustang.” 

Mustang laughs bitterly. “God, I am garbage. I’m supposed to be here apologising to you, and instead you’re comforting me. I don’t deserve you.”

Ed bites back any number of smart comments, because he knows Mustang isn’t in the right place to hear them. Instead, he shrugs. “I don’t need any comforting, Mustang. Riza took care of me, and I’m alright. You’re not garbage but you kinda look like it. What the hell did that bitch do to you?” 

Mustang looks up and Ed understands what people mean when they say they saw fire in someone’s eyes. “Mind control was a good guess, but it was more like puppetry.” His voice is low and dark and pained. “My first restriction was that I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening, directly or indirectly. I was aware of everything but I was trapped in my own body. I had to do what she said and I could not disobey her, but unless she explicitly forbade me from any action, I could get away with it. 

A shiver runs down Ed’s spine at the thought of being trapped in his own body. “Did she touch you?” he asks, even though surely someone else has already thought to ask. 

Mustang shakes his head and the fist clenched around Ed’s heart releases. “She might have, eventually. But god, Ed. It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t able to resist her. I did everything she asked of me. I’m so sorry, Ed.” 

All the grief from the past few days melts away in a matter of seconds. Ed can’t find it in himself to be angry anymore. He suspects that if he even called Mustang a bastard now,  _ he’d _ be the real bastard. Mustang has suffered enough. 

He sighs and puts a hand on Mustang’s shoulder, like Riza had to him. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for, Mustang. You did everything you could, and I can’t ask for more.” 

Mustang doesn’t look relieved by this, instead he looks even worse. “I have another confession, Ed. She didn’t order me to kiss you. God, Ed. I’m so sorry, I don’t have any excuse or what I did-” 

Ed cuts him off instead of letting him flagellate himself even more. He’d exhausted and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this. “Why did you kiss me?” Mustang blinks at him, looking a little bit more like himself for the first time this evening. 

“What?” He asks, like he hadn’t heard Ed the first time. 

“Why did you kiss me, Mustang? If she didn’t order you to?”

“I,” Mustang starts and then falters. “Because I—”

“Spit it out, Mustang. You owe me this much at least,” Ed threatens, feeling guilty even as he does, because really, Mustang doesn’t owe him shit, and the sooner he accepts that, the better. 

A long moment passes and Ed thinks Mustang is going to deny him but then… “I’m in love with you, Edward,” Mustang finally admits, so low that Ed almost can’t hear him. But he does, and he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“What?”

“I’m in love with you, Ed. God, I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how this must feel. I took advantage of my position, I know it must be horrifying to think that you’ve been living with me for so long and I’ve loved you for  _ years _ and I  _ assaulted _ you—”

Ed has never heard Mustang this flustered and it almost distracts him from what he’s saying. Almost, but not quite. Mustang looks absolutely wretched and he’s staring at his lap with his palms are clasped together, knuckles white with tension. Ed does the only thing he can to cut off the tirade; he puts a hand in Mustang’s hands, and the man freezes, looking up at Ed in shock. 

There are a hundred things that Ed could say, a million different pathways laid out in front of him in this moment. But Ed has always been very good at prioritising, and the most important thing he has to say is this: “I love you too.” 

Mustang’s jaw drops and when he collects himself, he swallows hard. “Sorry?” 

Ed sighs and sits down next to him. This isn’t a conversation that should be had while he’s standing over Mustang. He misjudges though, and ends up sitting so close to Mustang that their thighs are pressed together from hip to knee; it’s totally unintentional. It’s also perfect, if the way Mustang startles before easing into it is anything to go by. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve hoped in recent years that you might love me back… I don’t think I did a particularly good job of hiding it.” 

But Mustang looks stunned, like someone has just hit him over the head with an iron rebar, like he can’t believe why he’s hearing. 

“I didn’t know,” Mustang whispers.

“Well, that makes you the only one. I did such a crap job of hiding it, I think everyone knows how I feel about you.”

Mustang thinks about this, and shakes his head. “I must have hurt you so badly with this whole thing. God, I must have hurt you so much Ed. I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot and letting Catrina get the jump on me is unforgivable. I can’t believe I didn’t realise how you felt.” 

Ed shrugs. Mustang’s not wrong but it’s not like recriminations will move them forward. “The real question is whether you still want—” the question is more than half out of his mouth before the embarrassment hits him, the twisting in his gut reminding him of just how much power Mustang holds over him. “Well. Maybe that’s a discussion for another day.” 

Ed, ten years ago, wouldn’t have known the meaning of the word discretion. But Ed has matured since then. He’s not as strong as he used to be, and something inside him is still aching from the ordeal of the past few weeks. A rejection now would break him.

He gets up to busy himself, to maybe get a drink for Mustang so that they can compose themselves and pretend this hadn’t happened, when a hand catches his wrist. He turns to find Mustang gazing at him with shining eyes. “ _ Yes _ ,” he says with such conviction that for a second Ed doesn’t even remember the question he’d asked. “Yes, Ed, I still do. I want anything you’re willing to give, whenever you’re willing to give it. I’d give anything—”

Ed shakes his head and cuts him off. “I don’t want you to give me anything or give up anything. That’s not how I want my first relationship to go. You don’t owe me for loving you.” He knows it doesn’t make much sense when he articulates it, but he honestly doesn’t want Mustang to sacrifice anything, to give up something that’s important just to be with Ed. Ed’s been down that road before. What could possibly be equivalent? 

Besides, these days Ed is wary of tempting fate, and the look on Mustang’s face makes Ed think he actually does understand what Ed is trying to say. “Okay,” he says, softly. “I hear you, Ed. But my point remains. I have loved you for a long time, and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you.” 

Ed studies him for a second before the words appear in his head, as if by magic. He doesn’t exactly shrug, but he lifts one shoulder - the one that used to be automail - and says, “okay. I mean, not okay, but. I forgive you. For what it’s worth.” 

Somehow, it’s exactly what Mustang needs to hear and he shudders deeply, fingers clenched into fists on his thighs, squeezing tighter when Ed pats his shoulder lightly. “You alright?” 

Mustang looks at him and nods. “Thank you, Edward,” Mustang says, and his eyes are soft and shining and it makes Ed want to avert his gaze, not because it’s disconcerting but because it’s possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and if he doesn’t look away, he’s going to do something stupid, like kissing the man. 

Mustang seems to sense his discomfort so he looks away too, seeming to notice the room for the first time. “You’ve got a nice apartment,” he says softly, almost to himself, with layers of hidden meaning beneath it. 

“Yeah,” Ed says, taking the out that’s been offered. “Hawkeye helped me pick it.” 

Mustang smiles faintly as he shakes his head. “I wish…” 

Ed shakes his head more sternly before Mustang can continue. “Nope. No wishing. What’s done is done. Wallowing in regrets is for losers.” 

Mustang laughs like he hadn’t quite been expecting it, tongue tripping over it and eyes dancing in the way that Ed finds impossibly attractive. “I was under the impression that you thought I’ve always been a loser.” 

Ed shrugs again, deliberately nonchalant. “Maybe you’re a little bit less of a loser since the first time we met. Just a bit less,” he teases, bringing his thumb and his forefinger close together in a demonstration. 

Mustang raises an eyebrow archly as if in exasperation, but the corners of his lips are twitching. “I think you’ll find that nothing about me is little,” he says with such a straight face that it takes Ed a moment to get the joke and he barks a laugh. “Sorry,” Mustang says after a beat. “That was inappropriate.” 

Ed rolls his eyes and doesn’t say that they’d crossed the boundary of inappropriate when Mustang had hired a twelve year old boy to be a state alchemist; they both know that. Instead he says, “funny, though.” 

A beat of silence passes. “I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure where to go from here.” Mustang’s frankness is more disarming than it ought to be, given that Ed knows how easy it would have been for him to fake comfort while Ed was still floundering. “I never thought I’d - we’d get here.” 

“And all it took was another mad alchemist, eh Mustang? Does this make her our fiftieth?”

“Roy, please.” Ed blinks. “I mean,” Mustang says, hesitantly, “I’d really like it if you called me Roy. You don’t have to, of course, but—”

“Shut up, Roy,” Ed fries, rolling the name on his tongue like it’s something sweet. Mustang— no, Roy shivers lightly and Ed is a little shaken at the thought of how much power he has over the man. A wave of courage crashes over him and his next sentence leaves his mouth without his permission. “Will you do something in return for me?” 

Mustan— Roy nods without a single bit of hesitation. “Will you kiss me? Please? Even if you don’t want anything permanent—”

Roy cuts off his nervous babble by standing up quick as a blink, leaning in, and pressing a kiss to his forehead. It’s so unexpected that it leaves Ed gaping, jaw slack and eyes wide. “Roy,” he whispers, trying to figure out whether he wants to cover his face or shout at Roy for being so - so -  _ Roy _ . 

They’re so close together that Ed actually feels the shiver running down Roy’s spine this time, and it distracts him enough that he doesn’t have the mental capacity to process what’s happening when Roy tilts his chin up and presses their lips together, gently. 

Ed has been hit before, more times than he can even count, but this soft touch stuns him more than any blow could ever have. 

His eyes slip shut almost without his consent, and his fingers move to clench the front of Roy’s shirt like an anchor, and he can feel himself trembling until Roy’s arms come around his waist and tug him closer to his own warmth. The kiss stays chaste and delicate and Roy only lets go when Ed runs out of breath because he’s an idiot who’s forgotten how to breathe. It’s so much more than he’d ever expected, entirely too much to handle, and Ed doesn’t resist the urge to bury his face in Roy’s chest and breathe him in. 

Roy doesn’t object, just holds him tighter and presses his lips to the top of Ed’s head. He thinks it’s the first time in his life he hasn’t minded their height difference so much. 

“I really do love you, Edward,” Roy whispers into his hair. “So very much. And I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get my act together.” 

Ed shakes his head, rubbing the tip of his nose against the small patch of exposed skin in the collar of Roy’s shirt. Roy smells like soap and sweat and skin and Ed can’t get enough of it. “I could’ve said something too. It’s not your fault that I’m a coward.” He’s not begging for sympathy - Ed has always been painfully aware of his faults - but he sure doesn’t mind it when Roy responds by stroking lines down his back with broad, hot hands. “And even though I don’t know what we’re going to do or how this is supposed to happen, I love you too.” Roy’s palms are going to brand his back, but Ed can’t bring himself to care.

Roy draws back just enough to sit back down on the couch, bringing Ed with him and adjusting them until Ed is effectively sitting in his lap. They’re so close that Ed doesn’t even mind when Roy leans back and cups his jaw, studying him with a burning intensity. Ed doesn’t flinch from it even though it feels like it might sear straight through him. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“I don’t know either,” Roy admits softly, after a long moment. “But I think we can figure it out together.” 

He’s smiling softly, fondly, and Ed grins back at him the only way he knows, with his heart between his teeth. Yeah. That sounds good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst. i'm probably going to do an omake about what happened to roy when the array was deactivated. it might be an omake or it might be a 5+1. keep an eye out, if you're interested. 
> 
> send love, please. life has been kicking my ass.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have indeed hit rock bottom. Couldn’t think of a title for this thing and was torn between “Jolene” (I’m begging you please don’t take my man) and “sugar we’re going down” (I’m watching you two from the closet wishing to be the friction in his jeans). Went for the lesser of two evils because imagining Ed as Dolly Parton is beyond even my abilities.


End file.
